Arthur Kirkland
by Red Nightmare14
Summary: Arthur Kirkland has had terrible schooling and he's about to start his new job as a governor at Hall de Champepineux, or Thornfield Hall. Here he falls in love with its owner, Francis Bonnefoy – and discovers his terrible secret. Third in my Classic Hetalia series. (This story is adapted from the Charlotte Bronte novel 'Jane Eyre'.)
1. Terror in the Red Room

**A/N: Before I begin, let me say that I have taken many, many liberties with the story, which is adapted from** ** _Jane Eyre_** **. The basic plot is the same, but I personally found the story to be uninteresting and confusing at times, so I changed it up a bit. Forgive me any Charlotte Bronte fans.**

 **It's written from a first-person view of an older Jane/Arthur looking back on their past, so narrative is more story-like than my other fics from Classic Hetalia.**

My brothers – Patrick, Allistor, Dylan and Connor – were sitting with their father by the fire. I wasn't allowed to join in, as it was a father-sons activity and I was not Mr Kirkland's son but an illegitimate child born from an affair my mother had before she died, so I went to read by the window. But Allistor found me. Allistor was fourteen years old, four years older than me. He was tall for his age and he bullied me all the time. I always stood up to him, but he was stronger.

"You don't have any right to read our books," he said, snatching it from me. "You've got no money and no parents. You should be begging, not living here with us."

He threw the book at me and I fell, hitting my head against the door.

"Shut up, Allistor!" I shouted, as the blood trickled down my face.

He ran straight at me, and pulled my hair. My stepfather and Miss Karpusi, the nurse, forced us apart.

"Lock him in the red room!" my stepfather cried.

I struggled all the way upstairs. In the red room, Miss Karpusi sat me on a stool and stood staring at me. "You have to remember, Arthur," she said, "that if your stepfather decided to turn you out of this house, you would end up in the poor-house."

I didn't reply. I had heard it all before.

"I'm telling you this for your own good," Miss Karpusi continued. "You must try to be useful to Mr Kirkland to make up for the sins of your mother. Then you would be welcome here at Kirkland Manor."

She left, locking the door behind her. The red room was a spare room. It was cold because there was hardly ever a fire – and silent because it was a long way from the nursery. But worst of all, this was the room in which my mother, Gwendolyn Kirkland, had died five years ago.

I went to see if the door was really locked. Yes, it was. As I returned to my stool, I walked in front of a large mirror. I gazed at my white face and arms and at my blond hair – the very thing that separated me from the rest of my family, who all had red hair – and at my eyes glittering with fear and a determination to get out and be free. I looked like a ghost come to haunt the family, an outsider.

Daylight began to fade. It was now past four o'clock and the rain was still beating against the window. I grew as cold as a stone and I began to feel truly afraid. I tried to remember my mother – a kind, beautiful woman – whose influence on the family had protected me until I was born. As she lay dying, she had made her husband promise to bring me up as one of his own children.

"If mother was still alive, she would have treated me better," I thought.

I tried hard to be brave, until I saw a light gleaming on the wall. My heart started to beat faster. I gave a long and wild cry until I heart footsteps and the key turning in the lock.

"Arthur, are you okay?" Miss Karpusi asked.

"I saw a light," I cried. "It's a ghost! Let me out!"

"What's going on?" It was my stepfather. "I said that the boy be left in the room until I decided he can come out."

"Let me out, father! Have mercy!" I cried. "Forgive me! I don't like it in here!"

But my stepfather pushed me back into the room and locked the door again. I fainted.

I woke up much later in my own room. No severe illness followed the trauma of my stay in the red room, but it made me claustrophobic and I still see lights to this day, mainly in mirrors. The doctor came to visit me.

"What made you ill yesterday?" he asked kindly.

"I was locked in a room until night-time and there was a ghost," I told him. "And…and…I'm scared here. I want to leave but I haven't got anywhere else to go."

"Would you like to go to school?" he asked.

I hardly knew what school was, but I nodded. Nothing more was said. But one January morning, a few weeks later, I saw a carriage coming up the drive. Miss Karpusi scrubbed my face and hands and brushed my hair roughly. Then she told me to go downstairs. I stood in the hall, trembling from my fears, something that I'm ashamed of today but could have cared less at that moment.

I was called into the breakfast room. I bowed low in front of a tall man dressed in rich furs – a man with blond hair and a grim mask of a face. He looked me up and down.

"He's small," he said. "How old is he?"

"Ten," my stepfather replied.

"Are you a good child, Arthur Kirkland?" the man asked. I noticed the slight wince from my stepfather as his name was said alongside my own.

"Perhaps the less said about that the better, Mr Scandia," my stepfather said when I didn't answer. I was perhaps too busy contemplating my surname.

"There is no sadder sight than that of a naughty child," he sighed. "My boys would never misbehave."

"If you take the boy to Scandia School, Mr Scandia," my stepfather continued, apparently unconcerned for the shared name of the school and the headmaster. "The teachers must keep an eye on him and make sure he doesn't tell lies. He keeps saying he sees lights and ghosts. He also has to spend all his holidays at the school.

When Mr Scandia left, I stood there alone with my stepfather.

'I have to tell him,' I thought. 'This will be my last chance.' I went over to him and took a deep breath. "I don't tell lies," I blurted out. "If I did, I would say that I loved you. But I hate you more than anybody else in the world, including Allistor. I won't ever come and see you when I'm grown up, and I'll tell everybody how cruel you've been to me!"

I left Kirkland Manor four days later.

 **Characters so far:**

 **Arthur Kirkland = England (obviously)**

 **Patrick Kirkland = Ireland**

 **Allistor Kirkland = Scotland**

 **Dylan Kirkland = Wales**

 **Connor Kirkland = Northern Ireland (he's the only one younger than Arthur)**

 **Byron Kirkland = Celt (father of Patrick, Allistor, Dylan and Connor)**

 **Gwendolyn Kirkland = Britannia (deceased)**

 **Miss Karpusi = Ancient Greece (her given name is meant to be Helen after Helen of Troy, but I didn't specify it)**

 **Mr Scandia = Ancient Scandinavia (he's Norway and Iceland's father, and Denmark and Sweden's adoptive father)**

 **This story takes place in the 19** **th** **century England, which is why there are carriages instead of cars, and why Arthur has never been to school (it wasn't required back then)**


	2. Scandia School

I remember little of that long journey through the wind and rain. It was dark when the carriage arrived at Scandia School. I was taken into a warm room where I met one of the teacher, Miss Hassan.

"This boy's very young to be sent here alone," she said to Mr Scandia. "Are any of his brothers going to be sent here?"

Mr Scandia shook his head and I was sent to bed without food. I was too tired to dream that night, not that I dreamt of anything besides lights and ghosts. In the morning, a loud bell woke me up. The boys around me were getting dressed although it was still dark. I forced myself out of bed. When the bell rang again, we all walked downstairs the classroom for breakfast. I was so faint from hunger that I ate my porridge despite others complaints that it was burnt.

Nobody spoke to me all morning during lessons. Nobody seemed to notice me. When we went into the gloomy garden for our exercise, I saw a boy sitting on a stone seat, reading. I spoke to him with courage I didn't know I had since I didn't usually speak to strangers. His name was Lukas Bondevik, and he was Mr Scandia's son. He told me that his father's unusual name was a nickname his mother – who had died giving birth to his brother, Emil – gave him, as he came from Scandinavia, and it had stuck for years, eventually being used as the name for the school in her honour. He also told me that the lights I saw were actually fairies that had come to protect me from danger. Apparently they liked small blond children like myself and Lukas. We talked until the bell rang for lunch.

Lunch was plate of potatoes and shreds of meat. At five o'clock we ate half a slice of bread and drank a cup of tea. I found that I liked tea. After study, we were allowed a glass of water, followed by bedtime. Such was my first day at Scandia School.

Each day was the same – except for a visit from Mr Scandia. I trembled when I saw him again, remembering what my stepfather had told him. I sat at the back of the class with Lukas, holding my chalk and slate carefully as I did my sums. Then suddenly, the slate slipped from my hands. A fairy waved cheekily at me. Lukas would later tell me that that had been a bad fairy, and that I should be more careful.

"Boy, come out here!" Mr Scandia shouted.

I was scared, but Lukas pushed me to my feet. Mr Scandia made me stand on a stool.

"This boy looks like a child," he began, "but he's really a demon. You mustn't speak to him! This boy is a liar!"

He left and I had to stand there until the bell rang for dinner. I was so ashamed that I nearly cried. When the bell rang, I actually began crying.

"I've tried to be good," I sobbed. "I've worked hard. I want to make friends and win their respect. Why am I hated?"

Lukas brought me some bread and tea, but I still cried.

"Arthur," he said in his monotone voice, "nobody likes my father. That's why they don't like me. Some of the teachers and students may be mean for a day or two, but they'll forget what he said soon enough."

My first three months at the school seemed to last forever. I struggled every day to get used to the new rules and I feared failure all the time. At break, Lukas would teach me magic, but I could never make it beyond conjuring water. Until March, deep snow blocked the roads and we didn't go beyond the school garden.

Spring came at last. Then we were allowed to take our walks beyond the gardens. I could see that Scandia School lay in a valley by a stream, but I didn't see how unhealthy this was. Spring breathed a deadly illness called typhus through our crowded schoolroom. Soon, over half of the boys lay ill, weakened already by cold and lack of food, as many refused to eat the burnt porridge. Many were sent home to die, and others died at school.

Fear now filled the school corridors. I stayed well and I even enjoyed the beauty of the season because there were fewer lessons. We had more food because there were fewer students to feed. But one worry haunted my mind. Lukas was ill, not with typhus, but with a disease of the lungs. By June, my dear friend was dead. Conditions slowly improved after Lukas's death. Rumours spread that Mr Scandia wanted the school to healthier before his younger son was brought there. I was disappointed when, two years later, Emil turned out not be able to do magic, although I sometimes suspected that he could see the fairies.

I remained at Scandia School for thirteen more years – eight as a students and five as a teacher, partly because I was unsure what to do next, and partly because I wanted to watch over Emil in Lukas's place. By the time I was twenty-three, I was tired of the routine of the school, and Emil had since left to follow his own path. I wanted to see new people, to experience new things. Secretly, I applied for a job. And that is how I came to be a governor at Hall de Champepineux, or Thornfield Hall.

 **A/N: I want to specify that** ** _Jane Eyre_** **– which this story is based after – has quite a few mystical occurrences that are put down to godly intervention. I replaced and embellished with as magic because the main character is England, and England can see fairies and do magic, and I wanted to be faithful to his character.**

 **Characters introduced:**

 **Miss Hassan = Ancient Egypt**

 **Lukas Bondevik = Norway (sorry for killing him off)**

 **Emil Bondevik (or Steilsson, as Steil is meant to be Mr Scandia's real name and that's how names work in Iceland) = Iceland**

 **Jane Eyre was actually eighteen when she left Lowood School (Scandia School in the fic), but canonically England is twenty-three, so he's twenty-three in this.**


	3. A Cry in the Attic

It's a very strange experience to be alone in the world when you're so young. I wanted adventure, but I sook security at the same time. As the carriage took me towards my new home at Thornfield Hall, I had plenty of time to think. I could only pray that my new employer, Madame Bonnefoy, was better than my stepfather. 'But if worse comes to worse, I can leave.' I thought.

Thornfield Hall was outside a small village. The house was dark when I arrived, as it was night-time, except for one candlelit room. Inside that room was a cheerful fire. Madame Bonnefoy was an elderly lady with greying hair, dressed in white and red. She was kitting a small blue outfit, and I felt happier as she reminded me of my mother.

"Am I meeting Miss Bonnefoy tonight?" I asked her.

She nodded. "Oui, one of them." she said.

"Is she your daughter?"

"Non."

I didn't ask any more questions. I didn't want to seem rude in Madame Bonnefoy's home. We talked for some time, as she was a lively woman who loved talking about everything and nothing and had a French accent, and when I went to my room I felt happy and safe at least. In the morning, I got up early and walked in the gardens. There I met Madame again.

"Thornfield Hall is a pretty place," she said. "I wish that my son would live here all the time."

"Your son?" I asked.

"He owns the manor," she replied. "Inherited it from his father. Your student is his niece, my granddaughter Michelle. She's just come here from Seychelles. My daughter Lucille lives here as well, but she'll be leaving soon for Monaco."

As she spoke, a girl ran across the lawn. She was about seven or eight, slight with dark skin and black hair falling to her waist. She was polite to me, if energetic, and I spoke in French to her to put her at ease. I assumed that since her grandmother spoke with a French accent and had a French surname, the family must be French. When we had eaten breakfast, she sang to me and recited a poem that her mother, the master's sister, had taught her before her death. It was about fish and fruit juice. I taught Michelle only in the morning. That afternoon, Madame showed me around the house.

"My son's visits are rare," she told me. "He spends a lot of time with his friends, so I never know when he'll arrive, so I have to keep the rooms ready all the time."

"Is he a good man?" I asked, slightly nervous about asking a mother about her son.

"Usually, unless someone insults his cooking," she replied. "But I don't know whether he's serious or not when he speaks."

We reached some small rooms at the top of the house. From there, we walked out onto the roof. The view was wonderful. As I came back down and wandered along the corridor, I suddenly heard a laugh. It stopped. Then it began again, even louder. Madame caught up with me. "One of the servants," she explained, "probably Tolys Laurinaitis. He usually does this. He sews in one of these rooms."

As she spoke, the laugh sounded again. It was unhappy and chilled me. The door nearest to me opened and a man came out – he was tall with a meek face.

"Too loud, Tolys!" Madame called out.

I often went up to the roof to enjoy the view – and I often heard Tolys's laugh. Sometimes, he spoke in a low voice, although I couldn't understand what he was saying.

One afternoon in January, Michelle was ill and I agreed to let her have the day in bed. It was a fine but very cold day. I offered to post a letter for Madame to her daughter because I wanted to walk. About a mile from Thornfield Hall and halfway to the village, I sat down to rest on a bench. I stayed there until the sun sank crimson behind the trees and the moon was rising. I liked the countryside. The noise of a horse broke the silence. Suddenly, it slipped on a sheet of ice, throwing its rider to the ground. I ran over to him.

"Are you okay?" I asked. "I can get help from Thornfield Hall." Though I doubted I could run fast enough to get help before he died of exposure.

"Non je vous remercie," he replied. "I haven't broke any bones. Only sprained my ankle."

I could see him clearly in the moonlight. He was a man of about twenty-six, although his beard made him look closer to thirty-five, with pale skin but a handsome face and thin eyebrows, not bushy like my own. I offered again to go for help.

"Do you know Monsieur Bonnefoy?" he asked.

"No," I replied. "I haven't met him."

"Es-tu…?" he stopped and looked at my simple green clothes, not black like a governor's should be because Mrs Bonnefoy thought black looked gaudy.

"I'm the governor there," I told him.

He set off again, leading his horse with a bird cage strapped to its side (I felt sorry for the poor bird) – and I went to post the letter. When I returned to Thornfield Hall, there was fire burning brightly in Madame's room – but no Madame. Instead, all alone, sitting on a table near the fire was a bird cage with a white bird inside like the one I had seen strapped to the horse's side. It looked at me and chirped happily. A servant, Laura if I remembered correctly, entered the room.

"Whose bird is this?" I asked her.

"Pierre?" she replied. "He's just arrived with Monsieur Bonnefoy. Poor Francis fell from his horse of the way here."

'So, I've finally met the master of Thornfield Hall," I thought to myself.

* * *

 **A/N: Characters introduced:**

 **Mrs Bonnefoy = Gaul (she's France's mother, her given name is meant to be Lea)**

 **Michelle Bonnefoy = Seychelles (she's France's niece in this fic)**

 **Lucille Bonnefoy = Monaco (she's not based off any character in the Bronte novel, but I had to add her in since France treats her like a sister in the manga)**

 **Tolys Laurinaitis = Lithuania (according to HetaFacts, this is a more accurate spelling of his name)**

 **Laura = Belgium (I know she's usually called Bella but Laura is actually one of the names Himaruya suggested for her)**


	4. Fire! Fire!

I didn't see Monsieur Bonnefoy, or Francis as everybody seemed to call him, again until the following afternoon when he invited myself, Michelle and Madame for dinner. I was unsure why I was invited as it seemed to be a family dinner. Francis was sitting by the fire, his foot resting on a cushion. He was watching Michelle play with Pierre.

"Let Mr Kirkland sit down," he said, not looking up when I came in with Madame. Even after all this time my surname gave me tremors.

Francis drank his tea in silence, but with a playful glint in his eyes. Then, suddenly he began to ask me questions.

"Thirteen years!" he said, when I told him about Scandia School. "No wonder you look like you're from another world! I thought it was just the British in you!" I tried not to be offended by his comment. Madame had said that it was difficult to tell truth from lie with him. "Michelle showed me some sewing you did. I'd like to see some more."

I fetched some for him and he studied them carefully. They were nothing special, reader – just the English flag with some extra colours added into it, black and yellow mostly.

"They look like child's sewing," he said at last. "Throw them out and start again. And put Michelle to bed. I'm terrible with bedtime stories."

"He's a bit rude," I said to Madame when I came back downstairs. I then thought again. "I mean no offense."

"None taken," she replied. "It's just the way he is. It may be his nature, but he also has painful thoughts."

I wasn't satisfied with her answer, but I understood that she didn't want me to ask any more questions. I saw more of Francis Bonnefoy during the next few days, until he had visitors over for dinner, friends of his from his travels. When they'd left, he sent for me again. He was smiling and his eyes sparkled.

"Do you think I'm handsome, Arthur?" he asked.

"No, Monsieur," I told him. I did in fact find him good-looking, but his attitude left a lot to be desired.

"Then you're handsome," he huffed. "I need company tonight. I want to learn more about you. So speak!"

"What about, Monsieur?"

"Whatever you choose," he replied.

He said nothing.

"You're dumb, Arthur," he commented. "Or stubborn," he continued, a strange look in his eyes. Perhaps it was flirtatious, as he often flirted innocently with the other servants. He treated me differently, though.

"I don't know what would interest you, Monsieur," I said at last.

But we went on to talk of many things and we often talked after that. I felt less shy with him – he was open and we talked easily, often insulting each other with no ill effect. I became happier, heathier, and more open to people. I began to care for him, secretly for I would never let anybody know, but I couldn't help it.

One night, at two o'clock in the morning, I woke up suddenly. I heard a sound outside my door.

"Who's there?" I called out.

There was no answer. I turned cold with fear.

'Perhaps it's a fairy,' I thought to myself, although I hadn't seen them in quite a while.

I tried to sleep again, but I heard a laugh – low and deep – right outside my door. Then a scratching sound, like a knife, and a mutter. Was it Tolys? I couldn't stay alone. To my surprise, the corridor was filled with smoke coming from under Francis's door. I ran into his room and found that the curtains around his bed were on fire.

"Wake up! Wake up you idiot!" I cried, shaking him. But the smoke had made him sleepy. I managed to conjure up some water over the bed to put out the flames.

"Are you trying to drown me!" he cried, opening his eyes at last.

I told him what had happened and he listened in silence.

"Stay here," he said. "Don't call for anyone. I'll go look."

I did as he asked. It was his house, after all. He made the rules.

"It was Tolys," he told me when he returned. "You saved my life, Arthur, and I'm in your debt."

He didn't say any more. I returned to my room, but I didn't try to sleep. I got up as soon as dawn broke.

I waited all day to see Francis, but he didn't send for me, or Michelle. When night fell, I thought I heard his footsteps and I turned to the door, expecting to see him. But the door remained shut. I had so many things to ask him about the night before! At last, Madame brought in some tea.

"Francis left," she said, looking through the window.

"I didn't know he had left," I replied.

"He set off after breakfast," Madame replied. "One of his friends invited him to a party. I think he'll be gone for about a week."

"Who's the party for?" I asked.

"Jeanne d'Arc," she told me. "Lovely girl, I met her a few years ago, when she was eighteen."

"What's she like?"

"Tall and beautiful, with beautiful eyes and a fiery attitude, he likes girls with strong personalities," Madame replied. "And the glossiest hair I've ever seen. It's a shame she cut them short. She has a beautiful voice. She and Francis sang a duet together, at his last birthday."

'You're a poor and ugly governor, Arthur Kirkland,' I later told myself. 'You may be falling in love with Francis Bonnefoy, but don't even imagine that he could be in love with you.'

I decides to make two sketches, though I preferred sewing to drawing – one of me, poor and ugly, and one of beautiful Jeanne d'Arc.

'Whenever I think that Francis might like me, I will compare these together to remind me,' I thought.

Ten days passed and Francis didn't return. I was disappointed, but I spoke firmly to myself. 'You're only a governor, Arthur Kirkland. You have _nothing_ to do with the master of Thornfield Hall!'

* * *

 **A/N: The friends Francis has are Antonio and Gilbert. I thought of having them show up, but I decided against it.**


	5. An Unwelcome Visitor

On a mild April day, Francis returned, bring his friends with him, including Jeanne d'Arc. I went downstairs with Michelle that evening when she was introduced to the women. I found Jeanne to be as beautiful as the painting I drew, but stern and bossy. At least, just before Francis came in with his friends, I slipped out through the side-door, hoping to miss them. There I came face to face with Francis.

"Go back in, Arthur," he said kindly.

"I'm tired, sir," I replied.

"And a little depressed?" he asked. "I can read you like a book. You're not very good at hiding your emotions. But so long as Antonio and Gilbert are here, I want you to be here every evening."

The days that followed were happy ones for Thornfield Hall. All sad feelings seemed to leave the house. It was alive. But Francis didn't notice me. And now that I had realised I loved him, I couldn't _unlove_ him! I realised that he would marry Jeanne d'Arc – although she didn't flirt with him back, he flirted with her more so than anyone else.

One evening, when Francis was in the village on business, a stranger arrived. He was a fall, well-built man – and very polite.

"I'm Ivan Braginsky," he told Madame. "I have to speak to Francis Bonnefoy. I've come all the way from Russia to see him."

I was standing in the hall when Francis returned. "There's a Mr Braginsky waiting for you, Monsieur," I told him. "From Russia."

The smile froze on his lips as he caught hold of my arm. He sat down, trembling, and held my hand.

"I wish was on a quiet island with only you. I wish that all the trouble and danger that man brings would disappear." He took a sip of water. "Show Braginsky here," he said, "then leave, for your own safety."

That night, I forgot to draw my curtains. When the moon rose, full and bright, it woke me up. Suddenly a wild cry ran from one end of Thornfield Hall to the other. My heart almost stopped beating at the sound. Then I heard noise and shouting above my room. "Stop it! Stop it now!"

I dressed quickly and ran into the corridor. Francis's friends were awake, too. The door at the end of the corridor opened and Francis came towards us, holding up a candle. Jeanne seized his arm.

"What's happened?" she asked.

"A servant had a nightmare," he said. "That's all. Go back to sleep, all of you."

A few minutes later, Francis knocked on my door. "I need your help," he whispered. "Come with me, quietly. And bring a cloth. Do you mind the sight of blood?"

"I don't think so," I replied.

He led me to a room that is had first visited with Madame, but hadn't since that day. The tapestry on the wall was pulled back to reveal a door. It was open. I heard a snarl, like a dog. Francis went in and I heard a laugh.

'Tolys's in there!' I thought.

Francis called me in. On a chair sat Ivan Braginsky, his eyes closed, his face pale – and his arm soaked with blood. Antonio and Gilbert were also there. Antonio was holding a bloody cloth to Mr Braginsky's arm, while Gilbert was looking at me strangely.

"Stay with him while I get a doctor," Francis said. "Help Antonio clean up the blood and give him some water."

I sat there until the candle went out, none of us speaking. Just before dawn, Francis returned with a doctor.

"She stabbed me!" Mr Braginsky groaned as he opened his eyes. "Bonnefoy got the knife from her." He trembled. "It was terrible," he whispered. "She was like a wolf. She sucked my blood."

I involuntarily shuddered at his words.

"You shouldn't have tried to see her alone," Francis said. "I warned you." His face showed horror and disgust. "Go back to Russia and forget her."

When day began to dawn, he helped Mr Braginsky into a carriage. As it drove away, Francis walked towards the garden. The sun was shining on the dew and he picked a rose.

"Arthur, you've had a strange night," he said. "Will you accept this flower?"

"Thank you, Monsieur," I replied. "Will you still allow Tolys to live here?"

"Oh, oui," he said. "But you _must_ forget about him, Arthur. He's mad."


	6. Forgive and Forget

The following day, Madame sent for me. A woman, dressed in black, was waiting to speak to me.

"You probably don't remember, Arthur," she said. "I'm Miss Karpusi."

"Miss Karpusi!" I cried. "How are you?"

"Well, Arthur," she replied. "I have a son now, Heracles. But I have bad news from your family. Your stepfather, Mr Kirkland, is very ill. He keeps saying your name, Arthur. He wants me to take you back with me."

"I should go," I said. "I'll speak with Monsieur Bonnefoy."

I found him with Jeanne d'Arc and the others. He wasn't pleased to let me go and made me promise to return as soon as I could.

"When you marry Jeanne d'Arc," I said. "Michelle should go to school. You won't have any need of me."

"Promise me, Arthur, that you won't look for a new job," he said. "Not yet."

"I promise, Monsieur," I replied.

I reached Kirkland Manor at five o'clock in the afternoon on the first of May. I visited Miss Karpusi's son, Heracles. Then I walked up the drive to the big house. It was almost fourteen years since I had last walked down this drive that dark January morning. I felt stronger now and less afraid.

I went inside and talked politely for some time to my brothers. Then they showed me into my stepfather's bedroom. I had left him in bitterness and hate. Now I was sorry that he suffered so greatly. I wanted to forget and forgive the past. I went over to the bed. His face was still stern as I leaned over to kiss him.

"Are you Arthur?" he asked, avoiding my surname.

"Yes, Father," I replied. "How are you, dear Father?"

I took his hand, but he pulled it away and looked at me coldly.

"I had more trouble with Arthur than anybody would believe," he said. "I'm glad he left. I wish he'd died at Scandia School."

"A strange wish, Mr Kirkland," I replied angrily. "Why do you hate him?"

"He reminded me of my wife's infidelity," my stepfather said. "Two sons and yet she loved another. I thought she only wanted another baby, so when the boy was born we had another one. I hated the boy – a sickly, whining thing!"

He fell into a deep sleep and it was ten day before we were able to speak again. Then he made me read this letter:

 _Berlin, Germany_

 _Sir,_

 _Will you please send me the address of my son, Arthur? I want to write to him and ask him to come and live with me and my sons. He deserves to live with his family._

 _Yours, Folkert Beilschmidt_

"My father!" I said. Then I looked at the date. "This was written three years ago! Why didn't you send it to me?"

"I hated you," my stepfather replied. "I wrote back to him and told him that you had died of typhus fever at Scandia School."

"I've tried to love you, father," I cried. To learn over him. "Will you say goodbye to me now?" He refused. "Love me or hate me," I said, "but I forgive you."

A few weeks after his death, I set out for Thornfield Hall again. I hadn't told anyone the exact date of my return because I didn't want the carriage to meet me in the village. I wanted to walk up the house.

It was a dull June evening when I arrived. As I walked between the rose-filled hedges, I saw the narrow stile where I had first met Francis – and there he was! I took a deep breath when I saw him and turned to go another way, but he had already seen me.

"Bonjour!" he cried. "There you are!"

"I'm happy to be back," I told him.

We walked back to the house together. Little Michelle was wild with joy when she saw me. A fortnight of calm followed my return. Francis said nothing of his marriage and I saw no preparations for it. He didn't visit Jeanne d'Arc and she didn't visit him. During this time, he sent for me may times to talk to him. He had never been kinder to me – and I had never loved him so much.

* * *

 **A/N: Yes! Arthur's biological father is Germania! Things are looking up for him!**


	7. A Face in the Candlelight

**GokuSuperSaiyanTime: That's the point. You don't see much of their interactions so you question whether they truly love each other or not. 'Jane Eyre' is a coming of age story, where Jane/Arthur wants stability and love and thinks they're one and the same, which is why they like Mr Rochester/Francis. But they're not the same, and that may cause problems.**

 **With that out of the way…**

* * *

On Midsummer's Eve, I went out into the garden to sit in the orchard by the light of the rising moon. The sky was blue and the air warm and I could smell the sweet roses. When I heard Francis's footsteps on the path, I hoped that he wouldn't see me. But he called me and asked me to sit with him.

"It's a shame to sit in the house on such a beautiful night," he said.

I started to talk about his coming marriage, I had to at some point. He seemed anxious to say something.

"I don't want to marry Jeanne d'Arc," he said. He put his arms around me and kissed me. "I love you, Arthur."

"Don't insult me, Francis," I replied.

"Will you marry me, Arthur?" he asked.

I froze on the spot in amazement.

"Jeanne doesn't love me!" he sighed. "And I don't love her, if that's what you're worried about."

I thought hard for a long time. "Yes, I will marry you," I said at last.

As I spoke, rain began to fall and we rushed back to the house. But I slept soundly in spite of a great storm. In the morning, I wondered if I had dreamed all of it. But Francis talked of nothing but our marriage. Madame was slightly cold towards him, and spoke to me.

"You're young, Arthur," she said. "You'll be disappointed. Gentlemen don't usually marry governors."

But I was happy. My future husband was becoming my whole world. The preparations for our wedding day were made and everything was packed for our honeymoon to France, perhaps also to Monaco to visit Lucille. The evening before our wedding, Francis returned from a visit to one of his farms. I couldn't eat anything.

"What's wrong, Arthur?" he asked. "Tell me! Are you nervous?"

"A strange thing happened last night," I told him. "A howling noise woke me up. I heard it above the wind. And when I fell asleep, I dreamed that Thornfield Hall was in ruins and you were riding away from it. When I woke up, somebody was holding a candle over me. I didn't recognise the face."

"What did she look like?" he asked.

"She had long blonde hair," I replied. "She took my wedding suit and tore it." My words stuttered. "I've seen such a face! It was wild, with blood-shot eyes. She held the candle closer to my face…and…I fainted. Tell me, Francis! Who was she?"

"Nobody," he said. "It's your imagination."

"She was real!" I protested.

Francis took me in his arms and comforted me.

"My suit is torn to pieces." I said.

I felt Francis shudder. "It must have been Tolys," he said. "You saw what he did to Mr Braginsky. He seemed worse because you were half-asleep."

"Why do you keep him?"

Francis sighed. "I'll tell you when we've been married a year and a day. I promise."

I nodded and went to bed.

As I entered the church the next day, I saw two strangers lurking in the churchyard, a man and a woman. As is custom, the clergyman asked if there was any reason why we shouldn't be married. He paused, not expecting a reply, and carried on the ceremony. Then a man's voice rang out in the small church. "This marriage cannot take place on account that Francis Bonnefoy is already married."


	8. Alone

I didn't faint at these words. I looked at Francis and I made him look at me. His face had lost all colour.

The voice went on. "Just over two years ago, Francis Bonnefoy was married to Natalya Braginskya in Russia."

"It's true, I _was_ married," Francis replied at last. "But that doesn't mean Natalya is still alive."

"She was three months ago," the man said. He came forwards. It was Mr Braginsky. Francis trembled with anger from head to toe. "I'm Natalya's brother," Mr Braginsky said. "I saw her at Thornfield Hall."

A grim smile twisted Francis's lips. "Natalya Braginskya _is_ my wife. But she is mad. She comes from a mad family, and they didn't tell me about their insanity when I married her." He looked around the church. "All of you, come and meet her, and judge whether I was right or not to break my marriage vows."

And, clutching me to him, we left the church for Thornfield Hall. We reached the house and went up to the attic. Francis lifted the tapestry from the wall and unlocked the door behind. In a room without a window sat Tolys, bent over the fire, cooking.

At the far end of the room, a figure ran backwards and forwards. It was human, with blonde hair hiding its face. A fierce cry greeted Francis's welcoming voice and the creature looked at him.

"Be careful, Monsieur!" Tolys said.

The creature came forwards and I recognised her face. _She_ had come into my room the night before and torn my suit! She sprang at Francis and held a knife to his throat. He and Tolys grabbed her hands and tied them together.

He turned towards the crowd, including Mr Braginsky. "That is my spouse," he said. He put a hand on my shoulder. "And this is the spouse I want. Leave now. I have to lock her up again."

I walked slowly down the stairs with Mr Braginsky and the woman he came with, who was apparently his other sister Iryna. Francis's friend, Gilbert, came forwards.

"I got a letter from your stepfather, Mr Kirkland, before he died," he told me "I was always told I had other siblings besides Ludwig and Otto. I'm glad I met one."

When everybody had left, I locked the door to my room and broke down crying. I took off my wedding suit and put on my old work clothes. I was a lonely, cold man again. A winter front had come in mid-summer. My hopes of a happy life had gone. I had nobody.

Later that afternoon, as the sun began to set, I realised that nobody had come to my door – not Michelle, not Madame, not Francis. I unlocked my door and went outside. Francis was sitting outside my room.

"Arthur," he said. "Will you ever forgive me?"

Reader! I forgave him on the spot! But only in my heart, not in words.

"I _do_ love you," I said, "more than I have ever loved anybody else before. But I can't show it. You're a married man. Even if that woman is your wife. I can't live here in the same house my would-be husband does. I have to leave, and start a new life."

"Don't leave," he said sadly. "What can I do to make you stay?" He let go of me. "If you leave, I will suffer. My life has been hell until now. But for the first time, I am truly in love."

He kissed my forehead gently. I went back towards my room.

"Are you really leaving me?" he asked.

"Yes," I said. I walked back to him and kissed his cheek. "Good luck, Monsieur." I whispered.

Then I left him. 'Goodbye…' I thought. 'Goodbye, Francis.'

* * *

 **A/N: For clarity (because for the longest time I thought Grace Poole was Mr Rochester's wife) Natalya is Francis's wife, Tolys is her guardian. He keeps her in the attic, away and safe from everybody else. It's the best safety procedure that could have been done in that time.**

 **I know that canonically France doesn't really interact with Belarus, but come on, an insane character who tries to murder her husband? I had to cast Belarus.**


	9. A Voice in the Dark

I left Thornfield Hall before dawn. I walked past fields and hedgerows, crying, my shoes wet with dew. I was so upset that I lay on the ground. As I got to my feet, a coach stopped for me. I offer the driver all the money I had and climbed inside.

Two days later, the coach dropped me at a crossroads called Sea Fort. It was dusk and I could see the shape of the moors beyond. I set off towards them, walking through wild roses. It was a warm night and I gathered berries to eat. Then I climbed a tree to sleep above the flowers.

The next morning, I went back to the crossroads and began to walk along the road until I heard a church bell in the distance. At two o'clock, I entered a village. I knock on many doors, offering to exchange my pocket watch for food, but everybody refused. I returned to the moor.

'I'm going to die out here,' I thought to myself.

As I looked around me, I saw a light on a far hill. Rain began to fall and I decided to try to reach it. Reader, when I came to Maple Cottage, they took me in! I should have died on the moor if they hadn't. The more I knew of the occupants of the cottage – Matthew, Alfred and Peter – the more I came to like them. I called myself Arthur Clarkland. Alfred was a farmer, working the land, and little Peter was only twelve. Matthew owned a small village school, and it was here that I found my new home teaching the children.

'Have I done the right thing?' I often asked myself 'What's better? To love Francis and live in luxury but know of his infidelity? Or to be a village schoolmaster, but be happy?'

I knew that I had chosen the right path.

One November evening, Alfred came to see me. "I want to tell you a story. You've told me many already." It was true that I had. All three brothers liked listening to my stories. "It's a story my father told me. It's about the time he fell in love with a married woman. The husband found out and he had to leave her pregnant. She gave birth to a baby boy, then died years later. The boy's stepfather, Mr Kirkland, sent him to school and he became a teacher, like you. He became a governor to Francis Bonnefoy, and he promised to marry him. But he had a mad wife locked up in the attic." He looked at me. "It's a strange story, isn't it?"

"Since you know so much," I said. "How is Francis Bonnefoy?"

"I don't know," he replied. "My brother Gilbert's letter doesn't mention him. But you should be asking the name of the boy," he said. "And since you didn't, I'll tell you. Arthur Kirkland, right?"

"Yes," I replied, shocked that his man had found out my identity.

"I know this because another brother of mine, Ludwig, is a solicitor. Our father died a while ago, and he split his money between his children. You, me, Mattie, Peter, Gilbert, Ludwig and Peter. We're rich, Arthur."

"You're my brother?" I whispered. "I had nobody, now I have a family."

It was the happiest Christmas I'd ever had at Maple Cottage with my new family. But I didn't forget Francis, not for a moment. I wanted to know what had happened to him. I wrote to Gilbert, but I didn't get a reply from him. I wrote to Madame, but I also didn't get a reply from her.

As winter became spring and then summer, I felt sad. Alfred had decided that a family holiday to Germany to see our other brothers was right, but I refused. It didn't seem right to intrude on an already-whole family.

"I'll come with you if the fairies say its right," I told him. "They'll give me a sign."

Alfred laughed. He was used to my ramblings about magic and fairies, although he only believed in ghosts himself. That night, I heard a faint voice, crying and full of pain.

"What was that?" Alfred cried. "Is it one of your fairies?"

I had heard to voice, too. But it wasn't the voice of a fairy, but of a human. It was familiar to me, a beloved voice. It was the voice of Francis Bonnefoy.

I had gotten my sign.


	10. Reader, I married him!

It got up as soon as it was light, as Matthew wouldn't let Alfred and I leave the house in the middle of the night. It was the first day of June, but it was cold and raining. As I waited for the coach at the crossroads, I heard its wheels rumbling in the distance.

'It's been a year since I left Hall de Champepineux.' I thought. 'Now I'm going back.'

The journey to Thornfield Hall took me a day and a half. I ran from the lane towards the orchard, where I should have seen Francis. But he wasn't there. I looked across to the house.

But it wasn't there. I could only see a ruin, as I had seen in my dream before my wedding day. I ran all the way to the village inn.

"Is Monsieur Bonnefoy living at Thornfield Hall?" I asked, although I knew the answer.

"No, sir," the innkeeper replied. "I suppose you're new or you would have heard what happened last autumn. A fire broke out in the middle of the night. It was a horrible sight. I saw it myself."

"Who started the fire?" I asked.

"They think it was the mad woman Bonnefoy kept there," the man replied. "Tolys Laurinaitis had too much to drink one night. The mad woman took his keys and got out. They say she nearly burnt her husband in his bed once, but the governor saved him."

"And Monsieur Bonnefoy?" I asked. "Was he there?"

"Yes!" the man said. "He never left the house except at night. He wandered like a ghost in the orchard, muttering about roses and lost loves. When the fire started, he got all the servants out. He went to save his mad wife, too. But she had gotten up onto the roof. I saw her, screaming and waving about her brother or somebody abandoning her. She jumped when Bonnefoy called her name."

"Did…" I began. "Did anybody else die?"

"No," he said. "But it would have been better if he had."

"What do you mean?"

"He's blind," he replied. "Francis Bonnefoy is alive, but blind. The ceiling crashed on him when he came down the staircase. He lost a hand, too."

"Where is he?" I cried.

"On one of his farms – about thirty miles from here," he explained. "He's pretty much alone there. His mother and niece are in Monaco with his sister."

I ordered a coach immediately and I arrived just as it was getting dark. The farmhouse was dark and gloomy, and the sound of the rain in the trees was he only sound in that lonely place. Although strangely there was a faint smell of tomatoes in the air, which confused me since the farm didn't grow tomatoes. The door opened slowly and two men came out into the twilight. One was leading the other forwards, a blind man.

It was my love, Francis Bonnefoy.

I stood still, holding my breath and watching him. His face had a desperate and depressed look that reminded me of his bird Pierre when it was caged. He opened his eyes and gazed blankly towards the sky. Then his friend led him back into the house and beckoned me inside. He showed me into the sitting room. It was dark in spite of the fire. When I went in, Pierre began chirping in his cage.

"Be quiet, Pierre," I said quietly.

"Who is it?" Francis asked, putting out his hands to try and find me. "Speak up!"

"Antonio know me," I replied. "And so do you."

He put out his hand again and I held it. He caught hold of my arm, my neck and my waist. "Is it you, Arthur?" he asked.

"Yes, Francis. It's me." I replied. "I've come back. I'm a rich man now. I can look after you."

Francis sighed. "No, Arthur," he said.

We talked for many days. I told him of my life at Maple Cottage, about my new family – which he already knew about from Gilbert – my school, all the while Antonio was listening in on our conversations with a knowing smile.

"I still want to marry you, Arthur," Francis said, "and I'll accept any decision you make. Will you marry me, a poor blind crippled man, whose family have left him?"

"Yes, yes I will," I replied at once.

"Thank you!" he whispered. "I've wanted to see you again for so long that I cried for you at night."

"I know," I whispered. "I heard you."

Reader, I married him! I've been married for ten years now and I've never been happier. Two years after our marriage, Francis recovered the sight in one of his eyes. Matthew and Peter, and Gilbert and Antonio, too, are all married and we see each other every year for Christmas. Alfred went to the New World alone, where he still lives. Madame Bonnefoy lives in Monaco now, with Lucille. And Michelle? She has left school now and is our dearest companion.


End file.
